Beneath the Surface
by Smackalicious
Summary: Ducky asks Palmer to take a sample to Abby. Hijinks ensue. Okay, maybe not hijinks. Just read it. Written for the NFA Weekly Writing Game, week 1.


**Title: Beneath the Surface  
Prompt: Water  
****'Pairing': Abby, Palmer  
Genre: Gen  
Cat/Warnings: A bit of humor  
Spoiler info: None  
Rating: G  
Author's Note: Written for the Weekly Writing Game on NCIS Fanfiction Addiction, week 1. This one kinda got away from me, lol. It's almost 1000 words! Crazy. But it was fun to write.**

* * *

"Mr. Palmer. To Abby, please." Ducky held out a small specimen jar, which Palmer took eagerly, trotting from the room.

A deep throbbing that shook the walls the further down the corridor he walked signalled he was nearing Abby's lab. He smiled. Abby was so kooky; she made work a lot of fun.

By the time he reached her lab, the music emanating from the room was at full blast. Palmer walked in and over to the lab tech, who was bobbing her head in time with the music and clicking away on her computer mouse.

"Abby," he called over the music, eliciting no response. He frowned and tried again, louder. "Abby!"

Abby jumped, then slowly turned to face him, glaring. "Do I have to give you the same lecture I gave Gibbs, Jimmy?"

He gave her a wide-eyed look. "Uh, Dr. Mallard asked me to bring this to you . . ." He held out the specimen jar.

She snatched the jar from his hand. "Don't sneak up on me next time."

Palmer let out a noise of understanding. "Oh! I'm sorry, Abby. It was just that your music is so loud . . ."

She reached over and switched off the industrial sludge. "Better?"

He smiled. "Much." He then stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say next.

"Is there something else you wanted, Jimmy?" Abby asked, drawing him from his thoughts.

Palmer frowned. "It's just that . . . the way he died . . ." He looked up at her. "He drowned in his bathtub."

Abby nodded slowly. "It's happened before, Jimmy. It's not like this guy was just a really bad swimmer."

Palmer let out a laugh. "That's a good one. Bad swimmer." He shook his head, smiling, still appreciating the joke.

"Jimmy?"

His head shot up. "What?"

She gave him a look. "And . . .? I'm assuming you had a point to make."

He brightened. "Right! Uh, yeah. So he died in his bathtub . . ."

"Well established, Jimmy Boy."

He blushed, continuing. "So why did we find chlorine in his lungs?"

Abby pondered his question for a moment, then turned to her computer. "Good question, Mr. Palmer. Let us find the answer." She began typing.

Palmer froze. "Us? As in, you want me to help you?"

She rolled her eyes. "That's what I said, Jimster. Now come on. You don't want Ducky yelling at you for wasting time, do you?"

He paled. "He wouldn't really do that, would he?" Abby simply gave him a look. "Right. That was a joke."

"Jimmy, you've _got _to loosen up." She gave him a light punch on the arm. "Life isn't much fun if you take everything so seriously all the time."

"Or death," Palmer said, frowning at the monitor.

"What?"

His blush returned as he attempted to explain. "Well, uh, death. You know, because I work in autopsy."

Abby nodded slowly, comprehending his attempt at humor. "Okay? Jimmy?" He fixed her with an interested look. "Jokes like that . . . are so not gonna fly in public."

His mouth fell open in protest, but he thought better of the motion and closed it again, smiling nervously. "I suppose you're right. Bad taste?"

Abby wrinkled her nose. "Just a little bit." She then gave him a smile. "Though I thought it was kinda funny."

Palmer beamed. "It was pretty clever, huh? I just thought of that right then, yeah . . ."

The pair continued to grin stupidly at each other for a few moments, until the sound of the video screen coming to life broke their concentration. Ducky's face appeared in front of them.

"Mr. Palmer, if you have finished, I need your assistance in autopsy." He moved closer to the screen. "Now!"

"Whoa," Palmer breathed, then announced, "Coming, Doctor!" before turning to leave.

"I'll let you guys know what I find, Jimmy!" Abby called as he stumbled out the door.

He poked his head back in. "Thanks, Abby. I just . . ."

"Mr. Palmer . . ." came Ducky's warning.

"Be right there!" he called to the screen, then ran from the lab, headed for autopsy.

Abby turned back to Ducky's impatient face. "Now, what'd you do that for? Jimmy and I were having fun!" She pouted, causing Ducky to crack a smile.

"Mr. Palmer would be my assistant, dear Abigail, not yours." His eyes twinkled, showing he was not serious.

"Well, good," Abby replied, the same twinkle in her own eyes. "Because I _hate_ having an assistant."

Ducky continued to smile with his eyes. "Just what I thought, my dear." Just then, Palmer rushed into autopsy, breathing heavily.

"I'm here, Doctor," he panted, then saw Ducky was still speaking to Abby. "Hey again, Abby!" He waved from across the room.

"Now now, Mr. Palmer," Ducky said, walking over to him. "You know running inside is bad behavior."

"I'm sorry, Doctor," Palmer said, dipping his head.

Ducky turned to the screen a final time. "Goodbye, Abby."

Palmer raised his head. "Bye, Abby!"

Abby chuckled to herself and turned off the screen, facing her computer again. "Alright, Bertha, let's find out why our poor vic had chlorine in his lungs." She grinned as the computer whirred into action. "Thanks, Jimmy. Because of you, at least one more victim's family may be able to rest a bit easier. You're a gem."

She flipped her music back on and bobbed along with the song, knowing Palmer would make an excellent doctor someday – and also that not everything is as it appears.

THE END!!


End file.
